Sassy Cowgirl Kisses by Kathy Fawcett
Chapter 6
Home.
When Ash left four years ago for Michigan, things had been changing like crazy—like a whirling dust devil on the prairie.
He himself was a recent high school graduate.
Dad and Casey just returned from their honeymoon in Italy and Switzerland, and bounced around between the ranch, the town and Casey’s house in Phoenix.
Colton and Liu’s massive rustic home on the ranch was being built adjacent to the tea house, complete with a guest house and the beginnings of a kitchen garden—all along the scenic West River.
Pike and Paislee welcomed baby Ford, and were waiting to adopt one-year-old Sun, who was taking her first steps. Both children were heirs not only to West Ranch, but were the newest generation in the wealthy banking lineage of their Denver family. Paislee’s sister, Poppy Andrews, the new CEO of First State Bank, was already anxious to groom Sun to take her place someday.
Ash’s niece Willow, Kat and Gunnar’s baby, had been toddling around the ranch four years earlier, adorably saying his name with a silent A. “…sh, …sh,” she’d say.
Now, Willow was five and a half, Sun was five, and little Ford was four. Each unaware that they were multi-millionaires; each more interested in catching bugs, riding bikes and splashing in the river. And tumbling into Ash’s room, as they did this morning.
“Uncle Ash! Uncle Ash! Get up,” they screamed.
“Mama said we could wake you, ‘cause it’s summer vacation,” Willow said.
“Yeah,” Ford chimed in, his pudgy hands landing soft blows on Ash’s mid-section, “it’s summer bacation.”
“Gettup gettup,” Sun said in a sing-song voice, overexcited by the little parade.
“Okay, okay little people,” Ash relented, trying to pry his eyes open. “I’m getting up. But only if there’s coffee. Is there coffee? Who can be the first to find out?”
The children laughed and screamed “me! me!” as they ran towards the kitchen.
Is there coffee for Ash?
Ash quickly jumped out of bed to lock his door so he could hop in the shower without the little visitors barging in again. He’d slept late. And in spite of what Ford said, his summer bacation was over. He’d already deferred his job at the ranch by three weeks after graduation to enjoy time at his friend’s Michigan lake house before driving home.
Erik Olsen wasthe newest in a long line of automotive engineers in his Detroit-based family. His parents owned a sprawling summer house in the northern lower peninsula, on Lake Charlevoix, with access to Lake Michigan.
The “cottage,” as the Olsen’s called it, had six bedrooms and five bathrooms—in addition to an outdoor shower for “leaving the beach outside,” as Erik’s mother liked to say. There was a sleeping porch with bunkbeds, and another directly below for rainy-day reading, and mosquito-free evening meals.
The walls were painted blue, and trim everywhere was bright white. On the walls, photos of several generations of the Olsen family documented their reunions in front of the house.
Ash was in love—with the house, the family, and with Michigan summers.
Every day, he and Erik would wake early and push the sailboat into the calm waters of the inland lake. Catching a breeze, they’d sail under a drawbridge and wave to people at the many outdoor patios and decks along the channel. Then they’d reach the greatest of the Great Lakes, where they’d clip the waves and fish for bass and perch.
In the heat of the day, they’d drop the anchor and swim to shore for a burger and beer under a shaded outdoor umbrella. One glorious day, they sat on the beach and watched a regatta of sailboats racing to Mackinac Island—an exclusive location nestled between Michigan’s upper and lower peninsulas.
Every night, they’d dine on the screened-in porch with the rest of the Olsen clan, then go to various beach parties with long-time friends of Erik. And yes, he’d be sure to tell his dad, a few of the girls did have hair that looked like spun gold from the Michigan sunshine!
Three weeks flew by, and before Ash knew it, he was thanking the Olsen family for their hospitality, and extending an invitation for them to visit West Gorge anytime, to see a different kind of beauty.
“We have a full guesthouse on the ranch, and you’d be welcome to it.”
Ash described the mountains and the river, and the proximity to the Grand Tetons, the Wind River Mountain range, and Yellowstone National Park.
“I’ll come for sure,” Erik said, with sincerity. In his board shorts and a faded tee shirt, along with a stripe of zinc oxide sunblock on his nose, Erik was getting ready for a day on the water and Ash felt a pang of sadness that he had to leave. But a big part of him was also anxious to get home.
After his farewells, he turned his loaded pickup truck towards the west and started driving. Saying goodbye to Charlevoix, to Lake Michigan, and to some of the best years he’d ever known.
Caught up in the emotion, he felt the urge to stop in town and pick up a real estate catalog—maybe buy his own cottage on Lake Charlevoix. But common sense prevailed; he’d only be able to visit a week or two every summer. And though he had the money, a half a million dollars was a big impulse buy for a two-bedroom, one bath cottage.
Wasn’t it?